


Etched

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel Feels [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel/Human Relationships, Bisexuality, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Romance, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: This work was inspired by a dream I had last night where Destiel became canon and it was everything I've ever wanted it to be.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel Feels [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/218576
Comments: 63
Kudos: 323





	Etched

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 

There was a lull. Nothing to do and no one to save. Castiel could have gone back to heaven, he could have continued to put out feelers for Chuck—where he is and what he was planning, but with Jack finally home and the brothers losing hope, he felt that he was more needed _here_.

 _Need_ … humans need a lot. Cas used to think that that made them weak; and even though he could easily kill a human with just the press of his palm, he has learned over the years that strength and weakness are not solely one’s ability to survive. Strength is fighting in spite of weakness. Strength is doing the right thing even when everything else is wrong. Dean Winchester is strength, but Dean is also human … he has human needs.

That was all this was.

Dean is in a fight with the literal God of all creation. He is scared, he is stuck, and he is a human, looking for some comfort.

If there was a woman in this bunker, no doubt Dean would have turned to her without giving Castiel a second thought, the angel is sure of that. If there was a woman here, Dean would have stepped in closer to _her_ as _she_ read a book of lore, he would have pressed against _her_ side as he pretended to point at something on the page, he would have looked into _her_ eyes a little too long before finally leaning in, pressing lips to lips and then body to body, hand in _her_ hair. But there is no woman here, so Dean did all those things to _Cas_.

It took him by surprise at first, but the angel didn’t stop himself from matching every move that Dean made. Even though he’s a celestial being who’s supposed to be above all these carnal desires, the feeling of Dean’s warmth, his weight, his heart beating fast beneath his skin—it awakened that memory that Castiel pushed away long ago. He was human back then, back when April fooled him into her bed. He hated the reaper for toying with his vulnerability, but he loved the way her hands ran up the sides of his body. It was electric and toxic, and it felt dangerous and right all at once. He blames his humanity for loving it so much; but now, with his grace flowing safely within this vessel— _his vessel, his body,_ he feels that electricity snap once more. The danger however, the toxic thrill, _that_ was gone. He thought he would miss it—in the moments of clarity he had between Dean’s rasping breaths and fevered kisses, Cas thought he would miss the danger. He thought that that _risk_ was what caused all humans to seek out the touch of another. That thrill is what made all this fun, but there—with his back pressed against that dusty bookshelf, safe beneath the low bunker ceiling, in the arms of the one he trusts the most with his life, there was no risk; yet, his grace still sung with all the thrill in the world.

“What are you doing?” he managed to ask, once Dean’s hand slipped inside Cas’s overcoat, further still—beyond his suit jacket to the thin, white button down he always wore.

Dean didn’t answer, he just slid his lips to Cas’s neck and continued to press kisses into his skin.

“Dean?”

Again, no answer—but the man did finally pull away, only to pull Castiel along with him, leading him out of the room and into the hallway, where he practically ran the entire length of the long corridor until they reached Dean’s room.

“Dean?” Castiel said again, briefly wondering if Dean was possessed; but the look in his friend’s eyes was far too normal, filled with that same passion, same fear, same determination that made him a wonder.

They were soon inside, and Dean shut the door, locking the two of them in as soon as it latched. Dean never locks the door to his room. Castiel noticed that a long time ago. He thought it strange, because with all the danger that man has seen, you’d think he’d utilize every form of protection he could; but then Cas realized that Sam wouldn’t be able to get to Dean quickly if the door was locked. Dean could miss out on precious seconds unlocking his door to get to Sam if something went wrong. Dean locks doors when his brother is on the same side of them, never the opposite. So now, hearing that soft click of that little latch made a thunderous change in the room. This was new territory for them both, and Castiel could hear Dean’s heart thrashing against his ribcage. The man was just as unsure of what was happening here as Castiel, yet he moved with a worn in certainty. A tempered motion that has evolved with his body, aged with his skin, and all Castiel could do was wait to be moved.

Dean stepped closer, cornering Castiel against the edge of the bed. “You okay?” he finally said, breathy and eager, eyes darting across Cas’s face, seeming terrified that he might say no.

But Cas didn’t say no. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if he was scared, or struck, or stuck to the floor, but he knew just enough about what humans do in bedrooms behind locked doors to have his mind shut down. With April, it was about rhythm, following her lead and keeping up with her pace; but with Dean—following his lead is what Cas did on a hunt. Their feet fell into rhythm as they ran for their lives. Cas kept up with his pace as they stalked whatever monster they were after. That militant game of follow-the-leader didn’t seem _right_ now. This felt like neither the time nor the place for Castiel to be a soldier. He needed to be more and less, stronger yet powerless. He needed to be the grey area within this black and white world. Whatever this was—whatever they were doing here, Castiel needed to be different than any other form he has ever taken. He didn’t know if he was okay, because in that moment, he didn’t know who he was supposed to be.

“Cas?”

But then there it was—Dean’s voice, Dean’s voice saying his name. It has grounded him countless times before. It has brought him back from insanity, from the brink of damnation, from death and eternal life. It has humanized the stone parts of him that the angel thought impossible to feel. Dean says his name and he knows who he is and what he has to do and where he needs to be. His hands heal all when Dean says his name. His power grows. His wings spread. And now, his body leans in and his lips press and his tongue finds Dean’s and thanks it for forming around his name the way it does. The way it always has, the way Castiel hopes it always will. He will die a thousand times just to keep Dean alive, awake and able to say his name once more. Cas would always be able to find his way back to the world if Dean is there to speak him into existence.

The bed materializes beneath them, and its sheets work their way around their bodies as their clothes get thrown to the floor. It is not often that Castiel is naked. He has no need to be. His clothing is neither for comfort nor warmth, nor protection from the elements. Their only purpose is to allow him to fit into this human world without peaking interest. In all honesty, he finds them rather confining, and hated how they limited his movements at first. But over the years, he’s grown used to the fabric around his limbs—and that night when Dean brought him out of the fog that was _Emmanuel,_ handing him back that dirty tan coat that meant nothing to him before that moment, he found that suddenly his clothes became important to him. He began to take care of them, love them in a way that seemed completely frivolous, but harmless all the same. So, he kept them clean and he kept them on, close and protected against his body; but now, shedding them seems like the best thing in all the world, because as Dean’s bare skin slides against his own, Cas realizes that his coat, his clothes, his trademark _look_ that he’s held onto all these years, meant nothing if they could be replaced with _this._

He had no idea what he was doing, but Dean seemed to know the steps to some degree—and it made Castiel wonder if women aren’t the only ones to ever be lucky enough to feel this man’s affection. Where Dean did stutter at times, seemingly unsure of how to touch Castiel, he only ever hesitated above the places that would otherwise be innocuous. When Dean pulled away to catch his breath, he began to place his hand on Cas’s chest to steady himself, but then he paused—palm shaking above Cas’s heart, taking two long beats before lightly resting his fingers there. And later on, when Castiel felt himself heat up to a point where he thought he might burst, unable to keep himself from rolling the two of them over so he could hold himself over Dean, the man reached out his hand again—this time, reaching for Castiel’s hand, a fear in his eyes—as if their fingers intertwining could be life and death. Yet, when Dean’s other hand reached between them, wrapping around Castiel’s shaft, sliding up his skin slicked down with sweat and sex, Dean's movements were sure. The look in his eyes was certain. Castiel wondered how something so intimate and carnal could come so easily to man, yet something as innocent as holding Cas's hand appeared to shake Dean to his very core.

There was a nonsense to what they were doing, and Castiel normally hates when things refuse to fall into any logical line; but the chaos and calamity of their bodies coming together, lacking pattern and reason just like the placement of freckles smattered across Dean’s skin, the bumbling kisses and the rhythmless breaths—it all worked somehow.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, yet everything he did seemed to be right. Dean’s body told him as much. The man’s fevered gasps and airless moans were confirmation and validation—they were all the victory and purpose he needed, more than he ever found in heaven or hell, or on Earth playing God. Holding this man in his hands, caressing him down and winding him up, wringing him out like a sponge that soaked in all the life worth living—made Castiel’s life worth living. And he found his God inside of Dean. Pressing into the warmth of his human body, feeling the man constrict around him, hold onto him with all of himself, was the divinity Castiel had been searching for.

For the better part of an hour, he stayed there, inside Dean—pressing into him, onto him, around him as Dean fell apart in the sheets. Not being human himself, Castiel could have gone on longer. He could have gone on forever, and he would have, happily, but Dean wouldn’t allow it.

“Come with me” Dean gasped after the air in the room grew thick with heat, grabbing the back of Cas’s neck and pulling their heads together so they were brow to brow, growling and grasping for each other—the only solidity they could find as they melted into themselves.

He didn’t know what Dean meant, but his body seemed to. He felt Dean’s tighten beneath him, and Cas felt his own follow suit. He remembered the signs of what was about to happen from his time with April, but this felt very different somehow, because his entire body was involved this time. Not just his physical being, but his heart, his mind, his celestial form, his grace, all the way down to the tips of his tattered wings. He was completely and wholly inside of Dean. He was with him in every breath, in every movement. And as Dean threw back his head in ecstasy, body rigid with his own release, he brought Castiel into oblivion with him … and it was like nothing the angel had ever felt before.

He has been stabbed and touched and kissed and obliterated into nothing, but he has never felt like _this._ He has never felt as if he were one with another; as if his atoms shifted into Dean's atoms, causing little explosions that lit up their souls to scorch them from the inside out.

“You okay?” Dean asks again, this time—with a whole new meaning behind it, and once again, Cas can’t answer him; but his reasons are different now too.

He’s not sure if he’s okay, because he isn’t sure where his body is. He feels as if he is floating inches above himself and the bed below is nothing more than air.

“Cas?”

And there it is again—and there _he_ _is_ again. Cas came back into himself with the simple sound of his name gracing Dean’s lips. “What did we just do?”

Dean chuckles, and it makes Castiel chuckle as well—although, he’s not sure where the joke is in all this. “Something awesome.”

Castiel furrows his brow before finally propping himself up, which is a lot more difficult than it should be for a being with heavenly strength. “Dean … I’m serious.”

“I am too” Dean laughs again, and then he runs a soft hand through Cas’s hair.

And the euphoria fades, making room for that familiar frustration that Dean brings out oh-so-easily. “ _Dean_.”

“ _Cas_ ” Dean says mockingly.

“Dean … what we just did, that was not what we normally do together.”

“No, it certainly is not.”

Castiel sighs. “Humans who are in romantic relationships do that. Or humans who are simply looking for sex do that.”

Dean puts a hand behind his head and then stares at the ceiling, smiling to himself which only succeeds in frustrating Cas all the more. “Yeah—your point?”

Castiel growls. “My point is—we are not in a romantic relationship, and for the past decade that I have been around you, you have never turned to me for sex.”

“Have you wanted me to?” Dean flicks his eyes back to Cas.

“I—uh” Castiel pauses, “I never thought about it. I didn’t think of it as an option.”

“Does that mean you thought of it as something else?”

Castiel glares at the man, knowing that he’s just trying to get his goat now. “I thought of it as something you only did with women … _human_ women.”

“I did it with Anna that one time. Oh, and that Amazon chick. I thought she was a human at the time though.”

“You know what I mean, Dean.”

“Yeah—I know, but there were also the people you didn’t know about. You haven’t been a witness to every sexual encounter I’ve had, Cas. At least, I hope you haven't ...”

“No, of course not … but I’ve been around for quite a few, and they were all with the fairer sex.”

“Yeah, and there were a few that weren’t.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. He suspected—judging by how easily Dean handled himself while they were together, but he wasn’t expecting the man to come out and admit it so easily. Cas has observed enough of humanity and its culture to know that certain things are still considered “taboo” no matter how utterly ridiculous they might be.

“There was that guy in that bar … well, there were quite a few guys in quite a few bars over the years. And then there was that night with Gordon. That was weird. Oh, and Benny and I had a moment in purgatory. Nothing really happened, but we thought we were about to die and you know how those things go—”

“I wasn’t looking for your laundry list, Dean. I simply wanted to know just how out of the blue this was.”

“It wasn’t out of the blue … I mean, I’ve been with men before.”

“Clearly.”

“What? Sex is sex, and when you’re on the road, it doesn’t really matter who it’s with.”

Something inside Castiel breaks, and he’s not sure what it is or where, but those last words out of Dean’s mouth undid everything that the man saying his name, fixed. “Oh.”

Dean looks him over and Castiel turns his gaze away, suddenly feeling the need to slide out of the bed, collect his clothes and leave. Everything he thought was locked safely inside this room seems to have seeped through the crack beneath the door. “What?” Dean asks as Castiel begins to peel himself off of him.

“Nothing. I … I will leave you now. Let you get some rest.”

“Woah—wait, Cas. Hold on.” Dean is reaching out and pulling him back down before Castiel can even get his foot off the bed. “I didn’t mean … look, yeah, okay, sex with randos at some highway bar doesn’t matter to me. That’s exactly why I do it, because it doesn’t matter, so I can haul ass outta there with no regrets.”

None of this is making Castiel feel any less like fleeing, and he pulls against Dean’s hold some more, knowing that if he really wants to, he could break free and run; but something in him waits, hoping that there’s more to be said about what has happened here.

“But … Cas” Dean sighs, finally using all his strength to bring Castiel into his side once more, “you aren’t random. This mattered to me.”

Castiel looks across the room at the locked door, very grateful now that he didn’t escape.

“Yeah—for ten years, you have been here and I still jumped into bed with every woman … and occasional guy I laid my eyes on; but that’s just because …”

Castiel turns and looks at the side of Dean’s face. The man is now avoiding _his_ eyes, and Castiel can’t help the aching need to have them on him again. “Because, _what?_ ”

Dean licks his lips and then looks down at the sheets covering their bare waists. “Because I didn’t think you were an option either … no matter how much I wanted you to be.”

Castiel’s chest tightens to the point he feels his grace might freeze beneath his skin. “You … _wanted_ this? All this time?”

Dean laughs dryly and then rolls his eyes. “I mean … _yeah_. I didn’t really like myself for wanting it at first, because … well, you’re an angel, and you were just wearing some poor guy’s meat suit—”

“Jimmy is in heaven now. This body is wholly mine.”

“Yeah, yeah I know that, man. I’m just sayin’ though, I was the guy who killed things like you. I still am; but the moment you walked into that barn like some electric badass … I was … _attracted_ to you.”

“You were?” Castiel’s disbelief is only shadowed by his doubt. The first few years of their friendship were reluctant at best, and sometimes they were downright hateful. Yet, Castiel knows that human-desire is a powerful thing, and physical-want does not always go hand in hand with logical-need.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re a hot guy. And the angelic strength and overall power-trip thing has always been a turn on for me.”

“I see.”

“So, yeah … I wanted this, for a while now.”

Castiel feels better, but there is still a hollow ache hovering above the bend in his spine. “Why now?” he finally asks, and that ache seizes, locking up his breath along with it.

Dean shifts awkwardly a moment before shrugging. “You looked at me differently.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side. “I did?”

The color in Dean’s cheeks begins to deepen. “I – I mean, I _thought_ you did.”

He fears he’s made things tense now, so Castiel shifts awkwardly as well, sitting up straighter beside his friend, soon matching his gaze—blank and scared to the other end of the room. “I … might have. I’m not sure. When are you talking about?”

Dean groans before rubbing his hands down his face and plopping back against the headboard. “Fuck, man … are you telling me that I was just seeing what I wanted to see?”

“I don’t … I just want to know what exactly you’re talking about, Dean!” Castiel says desperately, because he doesn’t like this new franticness that’s appearing between them.

“In the kitchen, Cas! This morning. You were at the table and I was making bacon, and the grease splattered all over my shirt so I took it off so I could soak it in the sink. And then I looked over and you were looking at me … like, I thought you were really _lookin’_ at me, ya know?”

Castiel does know— _now_. He knows exactly the moment Dean is speaking of, and he didn’t realize it at the time, but he _was_ staring at him … more specifically _wondering_ at him. Castiel was taken aback, at first just by the man stripping in the middle of the kitchen, but then by the expanse of his chest, the smoothness of his skin, the curve of his shoulders to the rounded muscles of his arms. He wasn’t sure why he was so captivated; he honestly didn’t give it much thought in the moment, but he was captivated all the same.

“I saw something in your eyes, and I thought it was …”

Castiel finally turns back to face the man, and Dean is once again watching him, a sea of green and gold and freckles with a hint of red in his week-old beard. And once again, Cas is captivated.

“I thought you were seeing what I see in you every day.”

Castiel can hardly breathe now. “What do you see?”

Dean smiles softly, huffing out a gentle breath before looking down at his own hands as they wring in his lap. “I see hope.”

And that’s what it was. That is what has captivated him about Dean since the moment he touched his soul in hell. Castiel could look into Dean’s eyes and see hope, not just for himself but for the world. Dean Winchester by Fate’s design, is the embodiment of the word, and there—standing bare chested in the kitchen, that hope seemed all the more evident. Castiel could see it etched into every little scar and mark on the man, but never in the eons of his own existence, did he think that hope could blanket him the way it did in this bed. The best _he_ ever hoped for himself was what Dean laid out in between the letters of his name—saying " _Castiel"_ with as much reverence as he did with "Sam", and "John" and "Mary". But unlike them, Castiel has found himself lucky enough to unlock a whole new level of the feeling, and he’s not sure what he has done to deserve it. “Dean … I, I don’t know what to say.”

Dean can only shrug again as he continues to stare at the tops of his hands. “Well … you could start by telling me I’m not crazy.”

Castiel stammers, senseless sounds stumbling out of his mouth before his mind has a chance to shape them.

Dean turns away, quickly doing what Castiel attempted before, but making for a much more successful escape.

“Wait—Dean …” but he isn’t sure of where that thought will end. Cas isn’t used to not working out his thoughts. Sometimes, they are the only things he feels he has control over, so he will work them nearly to death. He doesn’t sleep nor does he need to eat or drink. He has no distractions, so his mind can work constantly, and that usually allows him the advantage of knowing what to say and how to say it. But he has just had some of the best distraction of his life, and his mind is having a hard time getting back into the rhythm of working like it used to.

“It’s fine, Cas. You’re human—okay, well _you’re not_. But parts of you certainly seem _close_ to human, so we can just chalk this up to us blowing off some steam or whatever.” The man reaches down to the floor and grabs his boxers, and Castiel watches helplessly as Dean stands to put them on.

“I—I didn’t have steam to blow off” he finally manages, but even he’s not sure what he means by that.

Dean glares at him from over his shoulder before scoffing and going back to pull up his jeans.

“I just meant that …” Castiel sighs and then closes his eyes, searching the dark for what he wants to say. “I didn’t know I wanted this, Dean. I … I didn’t know I was allowed to want you.”

Dean stops just shy of his button, slowing turning back to meet Cas’s gaze as the angel opens back up to the world.

Castiel is nearly bowled over with the relief he sees in Dean’s eyes, and the relief that _he_ feels by association. “I never imagined any of this—how could I? You were the human in my charge. I have always cared for you, _deeply;_ but as a being who didn’t know what it was to truly care about anything other than my divine duty, I couldn’t explain what it all meant. I look at you and I see this wondrous example of humanity, and the strength and power it can hold; but I never thought that I could then _hold_ _you_. I am an angel. I was not built for this, but I have been human, so I understand this to that degree. Yet … what we did here, that felt like more than just what humans do. It felt like more than my wonder and your attraction. I don’t know what it was and I don’t know what it means, but I am both afraid of it and afraid to lose it, so please … don’t leave me here alone in your bed. I need help understanding this, Dean; and you are the only being I have ever come across who _wants_ to help me understand things. Don’t abandon me now.”

Dean takes one, short breath before climbing up to kneel on the bed, quickly leaning forward to collect Castiel’s face in his hands. He pulls him close and he kisses him soft, but with a fierceness that the angel wasn’t expecting. “Have you ever known me to abandon you?”

Now, Castiel can’t help but smile. _“Well,_ there have been a few times—”

But Dean is quickly kissing him again, and they go on like that for several minutes, that is until Cas’s mind finally starts to whirr back to life.

“De—Dean, wait, stop.” Castiel breaks away, holding the man back and using a bit of his angelic strength to do so, just to show Dean that he’s being serious.

“What?” Dean asks, seeming slightly nervous against Cas’s immovable hold.

But now that he stopped him, Cas finds that he wants nothing more than to begin kissing Dean again—but that only put his pesky thoughts into overdrive. “What does this all mean? Are we … are we in a romantic relationship now? Are we not? Does this end the moment we leave this room? I want to know what to expect once your hormones stop raging and you come back into your senses.”

Dean stares at him a moment, but then he laughs and it makes Castiel a little uneasy.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are! I just told you that I’ve been hot for you for over a decade. We made out, had sex, had a deep heart to heart talk and then just made out again, and you think it’s all because some extra blood-flow to my dick?”

Castiel stammers once more, mind short-circuiting on all this new, uncharted territory. “I—well—uh …”

Dean sighs. “What do you want me to do, Cas? Do you want me to call you my boyfriend? Fine—you’re my boyfriend… if you wanna be, of course.”

“Well—I—”

“What? Do you want me to make it official and tell Sam?” Dean quickly jumps up from the bed and runs to the door, unlocking it a second later to throw it open. “Hey … Sammy!”

“Yeah?” Sam echoes from somewhere down the hall.

“Cas and I are an item now!”

“Cool. ‘Bout damn time!”

Dean grins and then glances back at Cas who is still sitting, stunned on the bed.

“What does he mean, _an item?_ ” Jack’s voice sounds closer than Sam’s but still far away.

“He means that they’re dating” Sam hollers in response.

“Oh—they weren’t already?”

Sam’s laughter fills the hall, and Dean shuts the door, laughing as well but rolling his eyes in the way he always does when Sam is being snarky.

“There. You’re my boyfriend and now Sam— _and Jack,_ both know about it.”

Castiel’s mouth hangs open, unable to do anything but stare at the man standing shirtless in front of him—much like he did this morning in the kitchen, but now it feels as if the entire world has shifted to a new axis point and they’re spinning wildly out of control past the stars.

“What?” Dean laughs again, throwing up his hands. “What else do you want me to do, Cas? Buy you a ring? Carve our names into a tree?”

Castiel shakes his head now, confused by the reference. “Why would I want our names carved into a tree?”

"Ugh!" Dean huffs before stomping back around one side of the bed, immediately grabbing one of his thick bowie knives from his shelf of weapons. A second later, he is back kneeling on the bed, but this time he’s facing the wall.

Castiel watches, shocked as the man hammers the tip of the knife into the concrete, eventually chiseling out little sections—light but visible scratches in the form of letters, one after the other, until they begin to spell out Dean’s own name. "What are you—"

“I have waited way _too damn long_ …” Dean huffs, working hard to get the knife to penetrate the tough surface of the wall, “to get up the nerve to make my move,” he soon scratches in two crossed lines, making a mathematical addition symbol, which confuses Castiel even more, “and now here you are… thinking that all I wanted was a fling?” Dean glances back over his shoulder, breathless with a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. “This isn’t a _fling_ , Cas … not unless you want it to be.”

Castiel gawks at him, knowing that Dean is waiting for him to speak, but he finds that he’s actually scared to.

Dean pants, chest rising and falling harder with each passing second. “Well?” he asks after too many moments have passed them by. “What do _you_ want, Castiel? Do you want to be with me—like _this_ , like we have been in this bed? Like this and more? Or … do you want to leave and forget this ever happened?” The furious determination that drove the man to pick up the knife now seems to be dripping off him like the sweat from his skin.

Castiel was afraid—afraid to speak, afraid to think, afraid to move because none of this was ever a thought in his mind before today. Knowing Dean in this way, holding him, crawling inside him and nestling in this space of vulnerability and want was an experience that the angel didn’t know existed, and once it appeared in front of him, the shock froze him still. Fear of the unknown wrapped around him and strangled his words and paralyzed his thoughts; but now that he’s _here_ —listening to Dean give him the choice of staying, or walking out that door, never getting the chance to hold him like that again, Castiel finds that a whole new fear is now coursing through his body. _“No…”_

“No?” Dean nearly drops the knife. “No ... to what?”

Castiel looks the man up and down. He looks at the skin that he’s now kissed, the hands he’s now held, the love he’s now felt, and he knows—more certainly than he’s ever known anything before. “No, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to forget this. I don’t want you to _let me_ forget this.”

Dean’s grin splits across his face as he straightens his body—puffing out his chest like a proud bird, and it makes Castiel grin too. “Well, alright then" he says; and with that, Dean turns back to the wall and continues to etch into it with the tip of his knife, carving out this moment for them letter by letter, until it spells out the hope that has always been there, hiding just beneath the surface.

**Author's Note:**

> For more fluff, angst and smut take a look at the rest of my Ao3.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me


End file.
